A Home Like Ours

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Good for you,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Thought you kept all your electronics locked up?’ Jon said.

  ‘We do. But you of all people know what they’re like.’

  ‘They’re hardly going to pocket a washing machine,’ Tara said, surprising herself.

  Rhianna glared at her.

  ‘Food’s up,’ Jon said firmly, cutting the conversation off at the knees.

  Tara reached for the spatula, but he shook his head. He served the bacon, eggs and pancakes onto the platters Tara held close to him. A couple of times his hand jerked wildly and she had to chase the spatula, but only one pancake hit the deck. No one seemed to notice.

  ‘Bacon’s the reason I’ll never be vegetarian.’ Al piled three crispy rashers onto his plate. ‘Any chance of a light beer to wash it down?’

  ‘Don’t be such a philistine.’ Kelly refilled her glass with more sparkling wine than orange juice. ‘Where’s yours, Jon? I’ll top you up.’

  ‘I’m all good, thanks.’

  ‘He probably wants a beer, right, Jon?’ Brent said.

  ‘Such a comedian,’ Kelly said. ‘Don’t give up your day job. You blokes need to expand your horizons—you don’t hear French men complaining about drinking champagne.’ She picked up a clean glass, filled it and held it out to Jon.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said.

  Rhianna looked up from her pancakes. ‘Since when does Jon Hooper refuse a drink?’

  ‘Did you get suckered into doing one of those fundraising things?’ Al asked.

  ‘No. I got diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.’

  The sound of cutlery scraping on plates ceased and four sets of eyes zeroed in on him.

  Brent laughed. ‘Yeah, right, mate. Now who’s the dud comedian. Everyone knows it’s an old codger’s disease.’

  Jon shook his head. ‘Twenty per cent of people who are diagnosed with it are under fifty.’

  Tara looked at their friends’ faces and realised they didn’t believe him. ‘It’s real. The last few gatherings when Jon’s staggered and slurred his speech, he wasn’t drunk. It’s young Parkinson’s.’

  ‘And you have to stop drinking? You poor bastard.’ Al made it sound like that was the worst part of the disease.

  ‘That’s the least of his worries,’ Tara said sharply.

  ‘She’s right,’ Kelly said. ‘That American actor who got Parkinson’s—you know the one. When he talks, he wobbles like one of those solar hula dancers. God, what’s his name?’

  ‘When did you find out?’ Brent asked.

  ‘A few weeks ago.’

  ‘And you’re only just telling us now?’ Rhianna’s voice rose. ‘Gee, thanks.’

  Jon flinched as if he’d been hit. Tara wanted to slap Rhianna for making this about her.

  ‘We needed time to process it before we could handle telling anyone,’ she said. ‘Apart from Ian, you’re the first people we’ve told.’

  Why am I justifying our choices to you?

  ‘You don’t look sick,’ Al said.

  Jon slid his hand into his pocket—a technique Tara now recognised hid his shaking hand. ‘I’m taking medication to help control the symptoms.’

  ‘All good then.’ Brent raised his glass.

  Tara looked at Jon. Tell them how it really is. How tired you are. How your memory’s not as sharp. That you’re working less. Tell them your balance is unsteady. She didn’t expect him to talk about the constipation, the dizziness or the erectile dysfunction, but she hoped he might mention how tough they were both finding the diagnosis. The bad days when the black dog sat heavily on his shoulder and he didn’t want to get out of bed. How they needed the support of their friends.

  But Jon stayed silent, his expression a blank mask. Only this time, Tara knew it wasn’t blank because of Parkinson’s. It was disappointment. It was shame.

  A tornado of emotions whirled through her. Heartache for Jon, fury at their friends’ unsympathetic response, and a desperate desire to bring Chris and Shannon back from New York.

  Later, Kelly helped Tara carry the dirty plates into the kitchen and stack the dishwasher.

  ‘So the change to brunch,’ she said. ‘It’s because of Jon?’

  ‘Yes.’ A tiny seed of hope opened inside her that Kelly was starting to understand. Perhaps Tara had expected too much too soon from the gang—they needed time to process the information too. ‘He’s better in the mornings, although not every morning. Wednesday was a shocker. After I’d tied Clementine’s shoes, I had to tie his too.’

  Kelly’s eyes widened. ‘God, that’s …’

  ‘Yeah. It’s pretty confronting for both of us.’

  As Tara put a glass on the coffee machine and pressed the latte button for Kelly, Rhianna walked in carrying the tray of condiments.

  ‘Tara, I keep meaning to ask. Are you coming to lunch on Wednesday or are you too busy marathon training?’

  Tara’s skin ran hot and cold at the mention of the marathon, reminding her of what she’d risked and what she’d lost.

  ‘Sorry, I meant to RSVP but things have been crazy. I’m no longer training but I’m working longer hours. Jon takes a ninety-minute break in the middle of the day and it’s easier if I’m at the store then.’

  Rhianna’s hand touched her décolletage in exaggerated surprise. ‘That must be a shock to the system.’

  Tara’s back teeth locked. ‘Everything about Parkinson’s is a shock. We’re having to rethink how we do everything.’

  ‘Are you having the kids tested?’ Kelly asked.

  The coffee machine beeped and Tara passed the latte to Kelly. ‘Tested? What do you mean?’

  ‘You know, for Parkinson’s. Isn’t it genetic?’

  ‘Not always. They think it’s a combination of a genetic disposition and environmental factors.’

  ‘Still. I’d want to know,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Really?’ Tara’s patience unravelled fast. ‘How would it help? I’ve already got a husband who’s depressed and struggling with his body that’s constantly moving against his will. Imagine if he’d grown up knowing this would happen? He’d have been miserable for three decades. Or worse. I wouldn’t wish that on the kids. I want them to have a normal childhood.’

  ‘But that’s not really possible any more, is it,’ Rhianna said.

  ‘Of course it is!’ Tara pushed the milk-frother into the coffee machine with more force than necessary.

  ‘You just told us he needs a nap every day. How’s he going to keep up with the kids?’

  ‘You’re planning on having a nap this afternoon!’

  Rhianna gave her a pitying look. ‘You know that’s not the same. I have a choice.’

  Choice. Standing in her own kitchen with a houseful of people, loneliness cloaked and choked Tara. Was this her new life?

  Every part of her ached to strap on her shoes and outrun it.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Jade considered texting Corey that Helen was moving in, but as her name was on the lease and he didn’t contribute anything to the rent, she decided against it.

  And he hasn’t told you where the hell he is!

  Constable Fiora had dropped in a couple of times, hoping to catch her out in a lie and find Corey on the couch. He was just as disappointed as Jade was by Corey’s absence.

  This wasn’t the first time Corey had disappeared without a word. It had happened when she’d told him she was pregnant, and again when Milo was six weeks old, screaming with hunger and feeding constantly. She’d been exhausted and strung out.

  ‘Give him a bottle to shut him up,’ Corey had said, not looking up from Tour of Duty.

  Since Milo’s birth, Corey had either been out with Macca working or drinking—mostly drinking—or home on the couch, gaming and complaining about the ‘shit state of the place’. One afternoon, during a particularly difficult two days when Jade hadn’t found time to even take a shower, could smell her own stink and there were no clean dishes in the cupboards, s
he’d completely lost it.

  ‘Stop playing that fucking game and help me!’ she’d screamed, snatching the controller out of his hands.

  He’d jumped to his feet, grabbed her and shaken her until the room spun. ‘You’re useless. And stupid. You’re a useless stupid bitch who can’t get her kid to shut the fuck up.’

  He’d let her go then and she’d slid down the wall, her legs quaking and her heart racing. Corey had slammed out of the house, the walls vibrating with his fury.

  She didn’t know how long she’d sat sobbing with her face buried in her knees, but at some point she’d realised the only sounds in the house were her pathetic sniffles. Milo had finally and blessedly fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  She’d hauled herself to her feet, cleaned herself and the house, and made Corey his favourite spaghetti bolognaise with garlic bread. And waited.

  She waited three weeks and five days. Corey didn’t reply to texts or calls. Macca told her, ‘I don’t know where he is, but if I was him, I wouldn’t want to be with a clingy slut.’

  Three times she’d picked up the phone to call her mother and three times she’d stopped herself. Why give Charlene a reason to tell her she’d got what she deserved? Corey’s silent absence was clear evidence Jade had brought this on herself. She shouldn’t have screamed at him. She should have known that adjusting to parenthood was harder for him than it was for her—men didn’t feel a baby kicking inside them for months and bond before birth like women did. And Corey had never liked being tied down and a baby lashed you tighter than a truckie’s hitch. She was lucky he’d hung around this long wanting to be part of Milo’s life. Part of her life.

  He’d been doing his best and she’d selfishly driven him away and denied Milo the chance to get to know his father. Just like her mother had driven away her father with her constant bitching, and every bloke since. Corey was right. Jade really was stupid.

  So when he’d strolled through the door twenty-seven days after he’d left, greeting her as if he’d just nicked down the shops for some ciggies, she’d known this was her last chance. Milo deserved a father and she wouldn’t be the reason he didn’t know Corey. She’d do everything in her power to protect her family and that meant making home a place where Corey wanted to spend time. It meant making no demands on him and giving him whatever he wanted.

  Jade had done all that and Corey had left her again. Only this time, she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  You weren’t home for him. You were at the garden.

  Why was she expected to stay at home just in case he turned up?

  Because he’s working.

  But the once loud and defending voice wasn’t as convincing, especially as Jade didn’t see any of his money. This was why she’d struck the deal with Helen.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Jade that Helen losing the cottage was the answer to her holding onto the unit, even if it did mean a massive reorganisation. Milo’s cot was now in Jade’s room and she’d stowed his clothes in storage bins under her bed. As long as she kept things tidy she had a narrow but clear path between her bed and the door. Milo didn’t seem bothered by the move and he’d gone down for his nap without any fuss.

  Today, Saturday, Bob and Lachlan had loaded their utes with Helen’s stuff and been ferrying boxes all morning. Helen had accepted Bob’s offer to store some of her furniture and Jade had offered to swap couches. She’d felt bad when Bob insisted he take her old couch to his shed and was disappointed she couldn’t tag along. For weeks, Bob had been producing things from his shed and she’d built it up in her mind as a mysterious treasure trove. She wanted to see exactly what was in it and hear the stories behind each item. Mostly she wanted to watch Bob tinkering at his workbench and see the tools he’d used to make Milo’s trolley and her earrings.

  Jade was creating room for Helen in some kitchen cupboards when Lachlan walked out of the laundry. He was wearing old green shorts, a black T-shirt that said Boolanga Bards on the front and Urinetown on the back along with a list of names. Apparently it was a musical. Who knew? What she did know was that the soft cotton shirt was too small for him, clinging to his shoulders and flat stomach like a second skin. It made her look, then look away and wish he was wearing his work clothes.

  But right now it wasn’t the T-shirt that was racing tingles along her skin and heating her cheeks. It was the way he was holding a large silver shifter. Her attraction flipped into overdrive.

  ‘The washing machine’s good to go,’ he said. ‘I saw you had a load in the basket so I put it on. Should be ready to peg out in about fifty minutes.’

  ‘You know how to use a washing machine?’

  His face creased into easy laugh lines. ‘You think my work clothes get washed by magic or by Dame Washalot?’

  ‘You know The Magic Faraway Tree?’ It had been the only children’s book at her grandmother’s house.

  ‘It was one of Auntie Pen’s favourites. Uncle Bob built her a shelf so she could store her favourite childhood books. He decorated it with characters from Peter Pan and it was in the room my sister and I used when we slept over. I think it was supposed to have been for the kids they never had. Tiff and I loved it.’

  ‘That’s sad. Bob would have been a great dad.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s ten years older than Mum so he was kind of a dad to her. And now my dad’s gone, he’s great for advice. Tiff and I spent a lot of our school holidays on the farm and I loved those books almost as much as the animals.’

  ‘What else was on the shelf?’ Jade asked.

  ‘All the Narnia books, The Hobbit, Storm Boy, The Min-Min.’ He grinned. ‘Tiff was horse mad so she loved The Silver Brumby. Uncle Bob added the Harry Potter books saying it was for Tiff and me, but really it was for him. He’s a huge fan. He took us to all the movies and Auntie Pen made us wizard cloaks. Whenever I pick up a Harry Potter book, I get a warm feeling, you know?’

  No. She didn’t know. Jade’s hunger to learn more about Lachlan was suddenly replete. His childhood was unrecognisable.

  ‘What about you?’ he asked.

  ‘What about me?’

  He blinked at her snappish tone, wariness clouding his usually open expression. ‘We were talking about kids’ books …’ He trailed off.

  She had an overwhelming urge to shock him so he’d stop being so nice. Expose the chasm of different experiences that lay between them so she wasn’t tempted to like him any more than she already did. Men like Lachlan didn’t slum it with the likes of her.

  She stared him down. ‘My Harry Potter experience isn’t quite as heartwarming as yours. My mother wasn’t a fan of me reading. She thought it was a waste of time when I could be earning money. When she found out I’d bought the Harry Potter box set, she sold it and kept the money.’

  Lachlan opened his mouth a couple of times before closing it again, but she didn’t miss the pity in his eyes. She hated it, even though she’d deliberately put it there so he’d know his world was shiny and hers was all banged up.

  The door opened and Helen walked in with Bob. He had a bunch of daffodils tucked under his arm and he carried two Acropolis Café bags full of food and drinks.

  ‘Hello, you two. Grab some plates and glasses for us, will you, Jade? We’ve brought you a late lunch.’

  ‘Do you have any serviettes, Jade?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Yeah. I keep them next to the silver.’

  Helen pursed her lips and rummaged through a box. She ripped off some paper towel squares and put them on the table.

  Jade didn’t have a vase, but she found a tall glass for the daffodils and arranged them evenly before placing them in the middle of the table. When they all sat, she realised it was the first time she’d had guests and immediately saw the table through their eyes. Only three of the plates matched and none of the glasses. She suddenly wished for six identical plates and yellow serviettes to match the flowers. But by the time she got her next Centrelink payment, the flowers would be dead and she couldn’t afford a di
nner set.

  Fighting resentment, she bit into the souvlaki, savouring the treat. ‘This is amazing. Thanks, Helen.’

  ‘Thank Bob. If it was up to me, we’d have made sandwiches.’

  ‘Thanks, Bob, for wasting your money on me.’ Jade grinned at him as Helen huffed. ‘And thanks for the flowers.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Bob said. ‘Thought we should mark the occasion.’

  ‘It’s only temporary,’ Helen said. ‘When the mayor’s forced to stand down …’

  ‘What are the chances?’ Lachlan asked.

  ‘Not sure,’ Bob said. ‘I popped in to have a chat with Aki and Craig, but they’re both playing their cards close to their chests.’

  ‘I reckon we go on Facebook and tell everyone what a bastard Geoff Rayson is so no one votes for him,’ Jade said.

  ‘The public don’t vote for the mayor,’ Helen said.

  ‘But what he’s doing isn’t fair!’

  ‘You still believe in fair?’

  Sometimes Jade wondered if Helen was inside her head. ‘I think you need to fight for—what do they call it when you lose your job just ’cos they want to sack you for no good reason?’

  ‘Unfair dismissal?’ Lachlan said.

  ‘Yes. That. And Helen didn’t make the meme.’

  ‘How do you prove it?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Even if she did, there’s worse stuff out there,’ Lachlan said. ‘Right, Jade?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Jade looked at Bob and Helen. ‘You two don’t want to go looking too deep on the internet. It’d shock you.’

  Helen snorted and drink shot out of her nose. ‘Thanks for the warning, Jade.’

  Jade didn’t know if Helen was taking the piss or not.

  ‘I reckon something’s up,’ Lachlan said. ‘I was at a Landcare meeting last week and they were promised a grant ages ago so they could finish the last section of planting. But every time they ask when the money’s coming, they’re told a different story. Maybe all those rumours about the mayor doing a land deal really are true.’

  ‘How would we find out?’ Jade asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It might be time to go along to a council meeting and ask some questions,’ Helen said.